


The Lasting Distraction

by Black_Rose_117



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Sherlock Holmes in the 22nd Century
Genre: M/M, Teen!John, teen!lock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-27
Updated: 2013-01-27
Packaged: 2017-11-27 03:59:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/657809
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Black_Rose_117/pseuds/Black_Rose_117
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John's around, Sherlock simply can't think... but maybe he doesn't need to.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Lasting Distraction

“Sherlock? What are you doing?” John asked, watching his friend pace the ground in front of him. “You’ve been going at it for twenty minutes. If I didn’t know better, you’d walk a canyon into the ground.”

“Don’t be an idiot, John,” Sherlock snapped half heartedly. “That’s physically impossible. It would take hundreds apon thousands of years to do such a thing, not to mention you would have to have a force to work the rocks and such out from under my feet. If you were referring to my walking actually wearing down the rocks enough so a canyon would start to form, you can add on another few billion years.”

John raised an eye brow at Sherlock’s answer, but shook it off and continued to watch his friend in silence. He watched for another five minutes, his eyes lazily following his friend as he passed in front of him, before Sherlock slumped down next to him on the wall, huffing and crossing his arms. 

“I simply can’t think!” Sherlock stated was an annoyed tone painting his words. “With the others playing kickball and you just… staring…”

John looked over at the field on the other side of the courtyard. Their eleventh grade class was all out over on the other side, playing kickball and just wasting the free day in PE; of course, Sherlock had wanted no part of that, so he and John had come over to the farthest corner to just sit and think. He turned back to Sherlock who was watching the kickball game with disgust. “I could always go and play with them if you want to be alone,” John muttered, knowing full well that Sherlock never _asked_ him to be here. He kind of just… followed…

“Don’t be an idiot, John,” Sherlock said again, the eye roll obvious in his tone. “Why would I want you running off to go play some mind numbing game where the goal is just to kick a ball and hit bases?”

“But you said-“

“I know what I said. I said, “I can’t think with you staring.” Did I ever use that in bad context?” Sherlock asked, finally turning his attention back to his friend and raising an eye brow. 

“Well… I mean, no… but-“

“So what other kind of context is there, John?” Sherlock asked, cutting John’s sentence off.

“Well, it could mean you were distracted by me… But… In a good way?”

“And-?”

“And… well, I don’t know what else,” John admitted slowly. He stood, shoving his hands in his pockets. It just seemed too hot to be sitting there; his face was burning and he felt really uncomfortable. Sherlock couldn’t be hinting what he was thinking. “I’m just going to… go play with them… er… something.”

John started off in the direction of the kickball field before something wrapped around his ankle. He made a very unmanly squeal as he was pulled from his standing position by a hard yank of his ankle. He threw his hands out to catch himself, hitting them against the wall. 

He opened his eyes, unaware of when he closed them, to see he was face to face with Sherlock, the detective smirking. His hands had hit the wall just above Sherlock’s shoulders and Sherlock’s hand was now balling up on one side of his pants, pulling at the fabric. John followed Sherlock’s lead, lowering his hips when Sherlock pulled. He lowered his hands to Sherlock’s shoulders, one going around to grip at the back of the detective’s neck. 

When he looked down, he was sitting on Sherlock’s hips, their crotches pressed against each other. Raising his eyes back up to Sherlock’s, he met the quick silver orbs and his breath hitched in his throat.

“S-Sherlock?” John breathed, unsure of what was really happening. “W-what are you..?”

“Don’t be an idiot, John,” Sherlock whispered, leaning up to catch John’s lips with his. John just about lost it right there at the slow, agonizing dance that Sherlock was doing with his lips. But John enjoyed it, even when the bell rang to signal to move to their next class and the rest of the eleventh grade class walked in on them, laughing and shouting insults as they walked past. John honestly couldn’t care how many of them called his “gay” or “queer.” He didn’t care because he wasn’t either of those. 

He was just Sherlock’s lasting distraction.


End file.
